Peasant Princess
by Blackpen Enaru
Summary: why would the prince pick his wife at a ball instead of having an arranged marriage with a foreign princess? how far did cinderella have to go to make the prince infatuated in one night? i take requests for historical characters you want to see in this st
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I'm not making monetary profit. Either way, Cinderella is public domain. this story is turning out to be a historical fiction piece so it has references and parallels to things that have actually happened. I also throw in little tributes to cultural icons. The plot is mine, minus the Cinderella ish parts.

**A/N: (must read)**

Dear readers,

This is a story that transcends time or space. It can take place anywhere and at anytime. This vague setting is modeled after that of Oedipus Rex, so the reader can relate more to this tale. I make references to historical and contemporary characters with absolutely no regard to geography or time periods. However, I do this off of the top of my head and I'm not very good at remembering specific details. Therefore if you find anything historically inaccurate, please let me know. Also, **if you have a favorite historical event or character you'd like to see in the story, drop me a review and I'll try to put it in!**

Thank you for reading. I am especially grateful to all you reviewers because this piece was originally designed to be a oneshot. I hope the rest of you enjoy and review as well. **  
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This is a fic that critiques the unrealistic standards of beauty that can only be achieved by cosmetic enhancements. In other words, Cinderella remix with a reality check. and now, for the feature presentation...

_Once upon a time in a land far, far away, there lived a beautiful princess. _

But that's not my story.

No one is born beautiful. It takes the right clothing, hairstyle, and makeup to look that way. If you're lucky, you get a handful of fairies who bless you at birth. My "natural" countenance lacks what it takes to catch the eye of any man who would be able to put food on my table and a roof over my head, so I took pains to alter my appearance. Call me superficial, call me a gold digger, what would you have done? What means are available to women that do not involve men? I could spin for men's wives, prostitute myself to men, or beg for scraps paid for by men. You may judge me but there is a piece of me in each and every one of you.

How many of you have never primped yourself in the mirror, changed outfits several times before meeting with a man who had potential to become a marital partner? You may claim that you want to make your own means through your own hard work, but how many of you would not want to be a princess? Do you think it is easy to charm a prince into marrying you when he has so many other prospects? It takes effort to look attractive, a certain tolerance to appear composed and royal. All of you who judge me, you are in denial. What I have achieved for myself is what you all secretly want. This is my story.

I was hired to be a mere servant, but with the wages they paid me you would have thought I was some unwanted stepsister turned maid. I grew tired of scrubbing floors until my knuckles bled and chasing off the advances of disgusting older men. If I were in a position of authority, I'd be able to do something about all the poor servant girls who are whipped after giving birth to their master's children if the fathers are not merciful enough to wed them. Most of their masters already happened to be wed. The lucky ones would get beaten by the mistresses until they miscarried. I cursed my plight and that of all women. Like all other females, I only had one narrow way out. I had to marry a benevolent man who would provide for me and not abuse me. I had no room to fall in love, or find someone who would take me for who I am. Fairy tales do not happen in real life.

As a lowly servant I had little opportunity to attract decent husbands, especially since I was often red faced from the hot stove and my skin scorched from washing clothes with lye. However, my opportunity came when a royal invitation arrived in the mail. It requested that all eligible maidens attend a ball during which the prince would choose his bride. The ladies of the household were in such a flurry that they did not even notice when one of the hairpins or cosmetics went missing here and there. I doubt they would have missed them anyway, the ornaments are numerous.

After the two sisters left for the ball giggling and squealing, I began to prepare myself.

I bleached my hair blond with urine I had collected from the chamber pots. I forced each lock into curls with rods I pulled out of the fireplace. I made my squinty eyes look bigger by lining them with kohl. I covered my rugged cheeks with powdered white lead. I hid my calloused hands with silk gloves. I stained my lips with berries. I squeezed into a corset until I could barely breath. This was the only way any man of significance would notice me. I looked at myself in the mirror and saw that I looked much more appealing. A peacock that had spread its feathers. Any other woman who married the prince would be content to serve as a mere trophy ordering servants around. I, on the other hand, would be the real power behind the throne. I would never forget what it was like to be a servant. I would not leave the poor behind as I did what I had to do.

I had saved my wages to buy a second hand black dress that was designed to accentuate and even create the illusion of curves. It was hopelessly out of style but a few alterations here and there made it somewhat redeemable. A little hat sat jauntily at an angle on my head and a net veil covered the top half of my face. In essence, I looked like a cross between a modest widow and a high class escort. It's the look that works, the fine line between not too provocative and not too boringly unfeminine. For the final touch, I squeezed my feet into tiny glass slippers that clacked and sparkled with each step. The pain in my toes and ankles was unbearable but it was nothing compared to what I had done to make my feet fit in the first place. I had bound my feet for years until they were narrow enough to fit into fashionably pointed shoes.

I rented a carriage that was not grand enough to please royalty but it was all that I could afford after the dress. However, if everything worked to plan, no one would even see the carriage.

When I arrived, I could see that many servants such as myself had labored greatly to make this festive ball a possibility. Just as I had expected, all the ladies were dressed in unintimidating pastels. As I entered the ballroom, everyone threw me incredulous glances but I held my head high and viewed everyone with an arrogance I had no reason to have. Instead of standing in line to speak with the prince, I swept past the hopeful admirers and graciously accepted the dance requests of other handsome men. Just as I had calculated, the prince eventually made his way over to me and asked me to dance. I feigned meek surprise and shyness as I told him I could not refuse.

"Why do you wear all black, on this cheery occasion?" he asked gaily.

"I was hoping no one would ask," I feigned a blush the best I could. "I mourn the fact that the other women must stop short of prostituting themselves for a piece of your attention." I furtively glanced at all the scantily clad women who were eying the prince with possessiveness. I, too, was showing much skin, but my breasts were not large enough to be deemed excessively provocative in the eyes of most.

"I am fascinated," came the wide eyed reply.

Of course he was. Men love the whole innocent and natural maiden deal. Now that I had sullied all the other women in mind, he would be more apt to spend more time with me.

"You are generous to invite every eligible lady to this ball," I teased. "Even the lowliest unmarried peasant would consider herself eligible."

"I shall marry whoever I find most fitting," he protested. "I am not a pompous ruler who finds himself above the people he rules. As a matter of fact, I am a servant of the people."

"You would mingle your blood with commoners," I breathed. He blinked and opened his mouth as if to correct me but apparently thought the better of it when he saw my (fake) dazzled gaze. He was exactly where I wanted him. I kept playing the delicate part of the nonthreatening lady who was not bright enough to intimidate him but not stupid enough to make him scoff me behind my back.

When I knew I had him hooked, I made my excuses and ran, perpetuating my image as a coy and mysterious maiden. Men love having to chase a reluctant damsel, it gives them a sense of masculinity. I hated having to be so manipulative, but it was for the greater good. The prince had probably broken many hearts anyway, he could consider it karma. The clock dramatically chimed at midnight as I ran as fast as I could without breaking my glass shoes. The prince protested and chased me but he was held up by all the ladies who wished to have him for themselves. When I gained some distance between myself and the pursuers he ordered after me, I took care to lose a shoe where he would not be able to miss it. This was not my idea, I had borrowed it from the advice of a book called Proper Behavior for Young Ladies. "In order to get the gentleman to initiate a courtship," it instructed, "'accidentally' forget your perfumed shawl at his place so he'll have to seek you out again." And so he would, providing that the glass did not keep too much of the stench from my sweating feet. Why had I not thought to wear more porous shoes?

A/N: In ancient Rome, prostitutes who wished to be successful had to bleach their hair with urine. In colonial America, a lot of female indentured servants would become pregnant by their masters and they would be whipped unless their masters were generous enough to marry them. Ancient Egyptians used kohl to line their eyes. It's still an ingredient in many eyeliners, it works very well. Women actually used to powder their faces with white lead, which is highly toxic. It's an ancient Chinese custom to bind the feet of little girls because tiny feet were considered fashionable. There are still women alive today who have bound feet. They can barely walk. That last piece of advice is actually from _Seventeen_ magazine, on "how to turn a boy friend into a boyfriend", only it suggested a sweater, not a shawl. Passive aggression is not a thing of the past.

If you like stories with lots of feminist innuendo and strong female characters, **read my Greek mythology stories**. I promise that _The Whole Truth_ series is a lot more lighthearted and better written. _Persephone's Lament_ is a little angstier.


	2. Chapter 2

As expected, the prince raised a big fuss about the mysterious lady in black. The only clue I had left him was a shoe that could not possibly fit any human of natural proportions. I glanced at my tiny bound feet. All my suffering was beginning to pay off. When someone knocked on the door I rushed to answer it, despite the fact that I was covered in soot from cleaning the fireplace. A richly dressed man looked at me disdainfully. A footman stood behind him, holding a wrapped parcel.

"By the prince's orders, all the ladies must try on this shoe," he sniffed. I stepped aside and he breezed right past me. The sisters, who had apparently heard the knock, rushed over and squabbled over who would try the shoe on first. I quietly waited in a corner. When it became apparent that neither sister had feet dainty enough to fit, the royal servants made to leave immediately.

"Wait," I commanded. "The prince ordered every maiden to try on the shoe."

"Are there any other ladies in the household?" the messenger asked haughtily. He did not look happy to be addressed in such a way by a sooty servant.

I silently pulled out the other shoe. Everyone's eyes goggled.

I was bathed, combed, and made up until I actually looked like a princess. I had to give the ladies in waiting credit. When I finally looked presentable (by royal standards), I was allowed to see the prince. The prince was neither very handsome nor charming, these are characteristics more expected of women so the queen can make the masses oooh and ahhh while the king gets real work done. However, he was trained in the proper protocol.

"Ahh, the love of my life," he murmured, as he brushed his lips over my hand.

Despite his romantic demeanor, I felt my spite for him swell up. He didn't even know me and he dared to call me the love of his life. However, I swallowed my disgust and wore a mask of delight. Many Dowager Queens or mistresses had acted as regents or the real power behind the throne. Queen Catherine of Austria-Hungary. Queen Catherine of Russia. Diane of France. I would do the same. I did not speak too often but offered a witty remark when I did. I thoughtfully agreed with whatever the prince had to say without seeming too sycophantic. I had managed to pick up the right mannerisms from the high class prostitutes who ran coffee houses.

I was introduced to the entire court. Most of the courtiers struck me as unimpressive, with the exception of the cardinal. Cardinal Richelieu. He looked at me dismissively as if I were some concubine. I kept my expression soft and nonthreatening but I sized him up. His robes and jewelry were rather lavish for a man of God. I could already tell that this man would be my rival. We would clash to keep the king in our own pockets. Perhaps I could have him killed before he saw through my façade. I could easily frame him for treason, or perhaps not. A man of such status would no doubt have connections. I would have to be careful. He could be the end of me.

* * *

A/N: Cardinal Richelieu is an actual historical character. He was a powerful figure during the reign of Louis XIV. My European history is ridiculously rusty now but you can expect more historical figures. 


	3. Chapter 3

The official engagement was announced the next day. The prince and I stood on the balcony, waving to the cheering masses.

"My fellows," my fiance shouted. "I choose a lady from the common ranks to be my wife and princess. What more proof do you need of equality in this nation?" the speech started.

I mentally scoffed. The prince had discovered my humble origins too late. A brilliant cover up. As for equality, it did not exist. The peasants barely made a living by squatting on the land. The few rich would eat to the bursting point and deliberately throw up their food so they could take in more.

"We enjoy great prosperity," he continued. "The tribute from the conquered territories flow like a mighty river!"

What lies. The king relied on the spoils of war to finance his expenditures but he was losing badly. The cardinal was hoping for a turning point but none was in sight, not at this rate.

"Everyone is happy, from the modest peasant to the wealthiest merchant."

The starving peasants were on the verge of revolt. There were few businesses left here since the war had driven them all away.

Nonetheless, I held my peace. It is not good strategy for a princess to challenge her husband openly.

On my wedding day, I wore white and pretended to be the virgin I had not been for a while. What a pointless burden it is to refrain from what is natural and necessary! Purity is a myth created by men to keep women in line.

After the customary celebrations, I was immediately escorted to the royal bedroom so the servants could prepare me before my husband arrived. The maids left giggling, in anticipation of what would happen. However, their cheer was in vain. On the night of my wedding, I sat on the bed, alone. I waited and waited but he never came.

It was like this every night. After a while I stopped waiting. Three months passed with no sign of an heir on its way. I spent each night alone and saved my dalliances for the day.

I rarely had a chance to speak with the prince, he had many duties and mistresses indeed. Nonetheless, I often sat no more than 20 feet from him in the same room. He was required to attend official advisor meetings and as the princess, I was expected to watch from behind a curtain. I never missed a single convening. I gradually learned who was a puppet, who was being bribed, and who held the most influence over the king. However, no one came close to challenging the subtle authority of the cardinal. It was apparent that he quietly ran everything while the king was off hunting both animals and attractive virginities alike. I do not mean to criticize the well meaning monarch. He is an excellent warrior and talented in battle but has absolutely no interest in politics.

I may have been separated by a piece of cloth and distance during official meetings, but I had excellent access to the advisors during social functions, as I was expected to make myself available and charm everyone to win their favor on behalf of my father-in-law and husband. I began to quietly insinuate that the war was doing nothing draining the royal treasury. I consolidated my power through political alliances that were carefully veiled by the façade of a pure social connection.

I was expected to knit tapestries during my free time so I turned this to my advantage. I began to embroider secret messages into the cushions I made and stuff them with gold. I made gifts of these to members of the court to pass on messages under the scrutinizing eye of the cardinal. Together, we plotted under my leadership. I learned that the guards were disgruntled and underpaid. I read about coups in Russia, where the czar would resign when the disgruntled _streltsy_, soldiers, stormed the palace. I would have to win the allegiance of the troops and the richest lords. The king was in debt from his extravagant spending. Our neighboring rival was poised to invade. I must learn to wield a sword for a needle, seduction, and charisma are insufficient weapons. I soon realized that many of the lords were disgruntled by the king since he had yet to pay them back. The servants proved to be a useful source of insider gossip.

I was walking through a hallway when I heard voices behind a closed door. I stopped to listen because I thought I had heard my name.

"The princess is obviously infertile. You must find someone else," insisted a voice I recognized as the cardinal's.

"You know better than anyone else the Church forbids divorce. What will you have me do, found my own church?" The prince chuckled at his own joke.

"If she were to be murdered so brutally at the hands of our barbarian enemies, we would have reason to wage war on them."

"Now that's a bit extreme my friend."

I quickly rushed off before anyone could catch me. So the cardinal was already perceiving me as a threat. I would not be surprised if it was he who was somehow keeping the prince from my bed. There were already rumors that I was sterile, or so revolting that I could not even attract the prince for one night.

I took many lovers, some for pleasure, some for political gain. I am but a woman, I have nothing to offer but my feminine attributes. Men do not need to sleep with the powerful to gain power but women do because men have all the power. It is an unpleasant gamble that does not always work. My sexual prowess would fade as I aged. Sex is an unsustainable and unreliable means of accumulating power.

My oldest maid became my confidante. She soon began to address me as if I were a sister and often scold me gently.

"You are a petty harlot to toy with affections like that."

"Nay. Other women do so for diamonds and frills. I do it because it is my only means to power. To improving this corrupt kingdom."

The royals often received many jesters from faraway lands but it had become too dangerous to travel in our country because of all the fighting. We made do with homegrown humor. The court poet recited a beautiful ode about a Jade Queen. I gave a bit of a start but everyone else seemed relaxed. After his performance I cornered him.

"That poem. It was a play on words. The Jade Queen is actually a jaded queen," I prompted.

"I thought no one would understand the true meaning," he bowed. He smiled at me, which made my stomach flutter. Now that I had a proper look at him, I realized that he was very handsome.

"Why is your topic matter so glum? It has no place in this court."

"Quite the contrary, princess. Do you ever leave room in your life for love?"

"It is better to be feared than loved," I quoted my favorite author, Machiavelli.

"Can you not have both?"

"It is harder for women."

"My point exactly, oh Jade queen."

"What is your name, Poet?"

"Chaucer. Geoffrey Chaucer"

I stared after him as he suavely bowed and excused himself. We had never spoken before but he knew me so well somehow.

I sat quietly behind the curtain as the chancellors spoke about the nation's troubles. "The peasants are revolting, there is no bread," one of them said.

"Then let them eat cake," came the prince's reply.

I turned away in disgust. _Cake_ is a colloquial term for this inedible hardtack that is given to prisoners when getting them to break down and confess.

I indirectly addressed the matter of the peasant revolt at the next banquet. As the princess, I had every right to set new fashions. I handed my order to a page and he read it aloud. "By request of the princess, the cycle of binging and barfing used by many in the court is ridiculously out of style. It would shock the courts of the finest kingdoms. You shall eat what you wish, but you may not vomit anything you eat for the purpose of being able to eat more."

The assembled lords and ladies gasped their protest. "Your new fashion is difficult to bear!" one of them objected. "It is as harsh as iron."

I gave a reply that would become my trademark. "The Iron Lady is not for turning."

The cardinal confronted me in private. "It is not your place to decide matter of state," he informed me none too politely.

"I am the future queen of this country. You are but a priest who steps outside of your boundaries," I answered.

"You can't even get into the prince's pants, must you try to wear them?" he jeered.

"L'etat, c'est moi!" I snapped. The state, it is me. I turned on my heel and left.

I went exploring the castle, hoping to find a secret passage or something of the sort. I didn't find one, but I ended up stumbling upon something even better. I found the royal archives, which were piled high with papers. I sifted through them. Most of the paperwork was boring documents but some very rude and insulting letters caught my eye.

"You violated our peace treaty, I will not have you violate any of my daughters," one of them read.

Others were more polite. "It is my regret to inform you that we have no desire at this point to arrange a marriage uniting our lines."

The marriage rejection letters took up most of the shelf. I was fascinated to see seals from every country and places I had never even heard of. Apparently no one wanted to marry their nobility off to our prince. That explained the ball. It was but a charade to mask the fact that we have alienated so many nations that none are willing to marry into our line.

"Curiosity killed the cat," someone stated flatly. I jumped and whirled around. The cardinal was standing in the door, scowling. He walked over and saw the letters in my hands. "So you've discovered the correspondences." His eyes gleamed maliciously.

"The ball was a front," I stated.

The cardinal regarded me with a steely gaze. "That ball, that chase, it was all orchestrated to appease the masses. To let them think it is possible to go from rags to riches. That the prince is benevolent and populist. _I_ directed the prince to focus his attentions on the stranger who obviously had the least noble bearing."

"You cannot make peace with foreigners. So you try to make peace with your own subjects."

"Precisely. Now remember this, I made you, I can just as easily destroy you."

"You have created something more powerful than yourself."

"No. You thought you were holding all the cards but you are but a pawn." He began to laugh without mirth.

"Sometimes the pawn can overpower the bishop," I replied coolly.

"I want what is best for this kingdom," he hissed. "You are ruining years of careful planning."

"If you truly wanted what is best, you would not adorn yourself in such finery while others are in rags."

"I don't see you leaving your laces and silks in your closet."

"This is a means to an end. If I am to have any credibility, I must stay in the latest fashion. Note however, that I do not favor an excessive amount of jewelry."

That night, I lay in bed alone, as usual. I resolved to not let anything stand in my way. I envisioned the prince in my head. I will use you for power as you had used all those maidens by carefully planting ambiguous hope in their heads, I thought. I almost felt… vengeful.

A/N: I'm now randomly throwing in real historical characters. Geoffrey Chaucer was a writer who managed to make fun of the aristocracy without getting into too much trouble because he knew how to do it without actually crossing the line. Margarat Thatcher, former PM of Britain, would say "the Iron Lady is not for turning" in her speeches whenever someone gave her crap about her policies for transitioning to a more capitalist state. Louis XIV said "l'etat c'est moi." his ego was bigger than Versailles. Marie Antoinette replied "let them eat cake," when informed that the peasants has no bread to eat. no wonder the French Revolution happened. Did I forget anything? it's not mine.


	4. Chapter 4

The Princess provides her perspective…

I stared in the mirror as I mulled over the new information I had picked up.

"_Henry VIII, he just beheaded another wife because she did not bear him a son."_

If one man was desperate enough to commit murder, how far would the prince go? I had to entice him to my chambers. I watched my maid as she combed my hair. I wondered how loyal she was to me. Louis XIII spent so much time with his mistress Diane that he neglected his own wife. He did not produce a legitimate heir until one fateful night when the only bedroom that was unlocked happened to belong to the queen. Perhaps the same trick would work for me.

I climbed into bed and pretended to read a book as I awaited my husband for the first time in months. If my servants had followed my directions, he would have no place to sleep tonight but in my bed. I feigned surprised when he staggered in, somewhat drunk. The self consciousness I suddenly felt was real, however. I felt a little stupid as I pulled the sheets higher to cover my deliberately selected sheer nightgown. I think I may have even blushed. I had planned this night carefully but now that it was actually happening, I felt unnerved. My heart thumped with exhilaration as he slid under the sheets. Bingo, I thought. However, he lied down, turned his back to me, and blew out the candle. I felt like smashing something.

The next morning, the court poet Chaucer told a hilarious story about a man who was so intimidated by his own wife that he never touched her. "He is afraid of being frozen by his Ice Queen," he crowed over the laughter.

At the end of the day I retired to my chambers and glanced through the new laws that were to be passed. I let the servants prepare me for bed and dismissed them. I was glancing over a new tax bill when I heard heavy steps in my room. "How dare you enter my private chambers unannounced," I demanded, without bothering to turn around. The guards were close by.

"My apologies," came the insincere reply. The sheet slipped from my fingers. I slowly turned and saw none other than my husband, sober and solemn.

"My lord," I curtsied, somewhat flustered. I had not anticipated another… visit. My cheeks grew warm at the memory of last night. It had been most humiliating.

"My lady," he bowed back. Without further ado, he strode over to the bed and glared at me pointedly until I joined him. He stiffly mounted me and lifted my skirts. I felt like I was in the middle of a medical examination. I stared at the ceiling and bit back a mean comment. I could not feel a thing. What an incredible waste of my time. I hoped this would be sufficient to produce an heir but somehow I doubted it.

After that practically eventless night, Chaucer's poem for the day was filled with exuberant praises of virility. As usual, I spoke with him after his performance. However, when he kissed my hand this time, he looked surprised as I palmed him my largest and most decorated ring as a token of my gratitude. His sharp and witty words had succeeded where my feminine wiles had failed.

While my husband and I ignored each other, I increasingly singled out the poet for company. I was amused by his hidden political commentary and wry criticisms. I bestowed him with favors and it was soon clear that I was his most powerful patron. Little did I know that this would lead to his downfall.

The Cardinal speaks in his defense…

It had not been difficult to rule this country with an iron fist, for both the king and the crown prince were content with mere trappings of power. On the other hand, I did not mind being seen as one of the many insignificant courtiers as long as I was free to have the final word on every piece of legislation that mattered. Alone. It worked well this way. _I_ had made this country formidable to its neighbors. _I_ had protected it from invasion and bankruptcy. _I_ had rid the streets of its filth. The king may have been ordained by God to wear the crown, but I was chosen to use it. This woman, this servant with no governing experience whatsoever, could ruin everything. I could not let this happen. A new development was particularly disturbing.

Like everyone else in the palace, I was well aware that the prince had finally visited the princess in her bedchambers, despite all I had done to prevent this. I had even encouraged rumors that the princess was barren. She was already more of a threat than I liked. If she were to bear an heir, she would achieve greater standing in the court. She would eventually become the dowager queen as well as a legitimate candidate for regency, should her child ever assume the throne at an age too young. The king and prince are both in good health but the lives of monarchs can easily be shortened by a disgruntled servant or an ambitious noble. I wanted this problem eliminated before it grew out of control. I knew the perfect person for the job.

I sought the prince, who was, as usual, preoccupied with his favorite mistress. I requested a private word with him. "Your highness," I began. "This is most difficult for me to tell you but I suspect that the princess may be engaged in a most inappropriate relationship with the poet."

"Nonsense," the prince scoffed. "This is what you pull me away from Valerie for? She is merely enchanted by his blabberings."

"It is unnatural for any lady to be so interested in writing. I am afraid I find it rather obvious that she sees in Chaucer more than sonnets and jingles."

"Cinderella is not a usual lady," came the reply. The prince huffed away but I could detect his unease from his body language. He kept glancing at his wife, who happened to be walking with the poet.

I stood before the man who was greatly in my debt. We were standing in the middle of a great and empty hallway, any footsteps would echo and be heard long before the person came within earshot.

"Congratulations, you have won the princess's trust and admiration," I drawled. "You are in the ideal position to facilitate her passing."

"I'm a poet, not a murderer," came the reply.

"If it weren't for me, you'd be a starving writer, making a living off of selling sonnets to lovesick teenage boys."

"The princess would not see me cast out of this court."

"I want her dead!" I spat angrily. "If you do not do this, I shall have no choice but to eliminate you as well. You know this."

The peasant turned court poet looked troubled. "You coerce me into committing treason. I have no experience with violence, except that inflicted upon my person by bandits."

My expression softened. "I understand that you are a peaceful person, I did not mean to approach you so harshly. However, the princess is a threat to the stability of the state. There are many jilted royals and nobles who are insulted that our prince chose a peasant over one of their own daughters. This could lead to a coup or political warfare."

"Then the prince should have never married her in the first place."

"Cinderella's clever deception was not discovered until it was too late. Duty comes in many forms, my child. God wills it." I pulled out an envelope from my robes and pressed it into the writer's hands. "Give this to her. Say it's a draft of one of the poems you are writing. The paper inside has been treated with an undetectable poison. She shall die within hours of touching it. It will never be traced back to you."

With a look or resignation, Chaucer tucked the envelope into one of his pockets.

I spied out of the corner of my eye as the princess rushed over to the poet and engaged in eager conversation with him. It all seemed so innocent, a mere fascination with literature, but I could tell that Cinderella's interest in Chaucer went beyond the spoken word. She was taken by him.

She looked delighted and flattered as she took an envelope from Chaucer. She made as if to open it but he stopped her. "Please, read it in private," he begged. "I never show anyone my drafts, this is meant for your eyes only."

"In that case, I must seek solitude," she breathed. She rushed off to read the poem where no one else could read over her shoulder.

I suppressed a triumphant chuckle. Things were turning out wonderfully.

The Prince picks up the narrative…

Cardinal Richelieu hurried to me, looking flabbergasted. "Your Highness, may God forgive me, I am breaking my vows. But the poet, Chaucer, he confessed to me last night that he would assassinate the princess by giving her a piece of paper saturated with pufferfish poison. She thinks there's a poem written on it… It kills on contact… I just saw him give it to her…"

I took no time to act. I alerted the guards and we raced to the princess' room, where she was sitting at her dresser, carefully opening an envelope.

"No!" the cardinal cried. He snatched it from her hands and held it to a candle. Cinderella angrily opened her mouth to protest but I stepped in.

"It's all right darling," I soothed. "The cardinal just saved your life. That poet was trying to kill you by giving you a sheet treated with poison that gets absorbed through the skin."

"Why would he do such a thing?" the princess demanded. "And what of the evidence?"

Everyone's eyes shifted to the wrinkled black paper. Not even a corner remained intact.

"Don't you see? That devious assassin was trying to get close to you all along so he would be above suspicion," I cried. Whether or not this was true, I disliked how close he had gotten with my wife. At this point, I did not care if he was innocent, I wanted him gone. "The cardinal's word is enough," I said firmly. "He broke his confessional vows to save you, you should be grateful." I turned to the guards. "Arrest Chaucer. He shall hang for treason at dawn.

A/N: the scene where Cinderella secretly gives Chaucer her ring is a parallel to a scene in The Three Musketeers in which the queen does the same to D'Artagnan for helping keep her affair a secret. The tidbits about Henry VIII and Louis XIII are true. Like Cinderella, Queen Myung Sung Hwang Hoo of Korea was not given a chance to consummate her marriage for quite a while. The king showed up on the wedding night and bailed, never to come back for years. Puffer fish poison can indeed be very deadly in the right quantities. It can paralyze temporarily upon contact. However, diluted versions are sold as pain medications. It is also a very expensive delicacy since the fish had to be prepared properly if it isn't going to be poisonous. The final exam for a puffer fish chef is to eat a piece of the fish you have prepared yourself. Cardinals, popes, and priests of the time all had bastard children running around so my cardinal has at least one mistress. The political rivalry between a queen/mistress figure and a cardinal/some sort of relation to the king has recurred throughout history.

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	5. Chapter 5

The Cardinal gloats…

Chaucer had been a liability ever since he had entered the princess' inner circle. I could not afford to lose a pawn to a rival so I sacrificed him. Of course, I could have had the princess killed but I had several reasons not to. First off, I had no way of guaranteeing whether her death would actually motivate her admirers to promote her cause posthumously. Second, the hostilities between Cinderella and myself were rather well known at this point. If I should need to eliminate her at some future point, my pretense of saving her life would make me less of a suspect. Third, it was simply more difficult to kill the princess because her guards had been doubled ever since it became possible that she would soon bear the prince's child. So I killed two birds with one stone. Chaucer shall hang tomorrow for attempted assassination of the princess and this alone should be enough to distress and distraught her for a while. Her leadership will suffer and I shall have more leeway to steer the king in my direction.

The Princess ponders what has just happened…

I was still in shock. Everything had happened in a rush. I sat alone in my room, after having screamed at everyone to leave. I slowly reached for the pile of letters that was still sitting on my dresser. By fate or incredible chance, I had received a letter from a good friend I used to work with back when I was still a commoner. Few other correspondences would have made me set aside Chaucer's draft for later. It was this letter that the cardinal had snatched from my hands and burned. I found it very suspicious that he destroyed the evidence, or perhaps he had merely acted out of impulsive haste.

I took the poet's envelope and turned it around in my hands. I refused to believe that he would ever try to harm me. However, it was possible that he was an unwitting pawn who was framed for his deed. However, why hadn't the plotter accused Chaucer after I had actually been killed? Just in case, I put on a pair of gloves and pulled out the letter. Instead of a poem, there was a frank warning.

"The cardinal wanted me to kill you with a poisoned letter. Be careful."

So this was why Richelieu had burned the letter. He had anticipated this. I had to free Chaucer. However, there were guards at the door who kept me from leaving. "Prince's orders, Your Highness," one of them explained. "He wants you kept safe until we search and question the entire palace for any accomplices."

That would take days. By then it would be too late. "Let me speak with Lord Byron," I demanded.

"No one is allowed to approach you, except the cardinal's most trusted servant." One of his mistresses, no doubt. She would be utterly loyal to her protector.

I swore. The prince had never cared for my welfare, much less my life. He merely wanted Chaucer dead because he was jealous. Not that he loved me, or because he wanted to share something exclusively with me, but because I was just a piece of property he wanted to keep for himself. Nonetheless, I was trapped. Never in my life had I felt so helpless.

Did you know that tying your sheets together to climb out the window simply does not work? The fabric is not durable or long enough for that purpose. Also, guards were swarming everywhere. I tried to reason with and bribe the servant who brought me dinner but she immediately left before I could say a word.

I paced the floor all night, attempting one futile escape after another. By the time the sun rose, I was exhausted. I ran to the balcony when I heard the drums that are beaten before each of execution. I craned my neck to see the hangman's platform where Geoffrey was standing. His head was covered with a black hood and his hands were tied behind his back. My nails began to bleed from digging them into the stone ledge as I watched the hangman place a rope around the prisoner's neck and push him forward. The poet fell out of sight into the trapdoor. The rope swayed for a bit but soon became taut and still.

I screamed with anguish and burst into sobs. I had lost my only true friend in this court.

I began to wear a black shift underneath my dress to mourn him secretly. Like the hidden taunts in his poem, I hid my sadness from the world. It would possibly compromise my position in the court to contradict the prince's accusations. I had no doubt that either he or the cardinal would not hesitate to kill me as well.

Two weeks passed without Chaucer's jaunty commentary. The new poet was incredibly boring with his flowery metaphors for feminine beauty. I actually left the performance early, feigning illness. No one raised an eyebrow, presuming me to be with child. I sank into a chair in my room and stared out the balcony, where I had witnessed my friend's execution. I ran my hands along the stone rail as I walked and found a piece of paper wedged into one of the crevices. I frowned and tugged it out. "Meet me in the rose garden at midnight," it read. It was in Geoffrey's handwriting.

I shivered in the cold, anxiously scanning the dark for guards. I gave a start when I suddenly felt a presence behind me. I spun around and saw the friend I had taken for dead. "How is this possible?" I asked in a hushed tone.

"Lord Byron had me switched with another prisoner at the last minute. I was hooded early and the guards were a little drunk." So this meant that I could rely on at least one political ally. He had acted in my stead during my own time of incarceration.

"You should not be here," I told him. "You put yourself and many others in danger."

"If you love me, at the very least my prose" he whispered fervently. "Come with me. We shall both be free of this gilded cage. We will live humbly but free of politicking and backstabbing."

"You speak suddenly of such matters!" I admonished him.

"We have little time. You are in danger as well if you stay."

"Nay," I replied, my voice trembling. "I shall risk what I must. I can do more here. In a center of politics."

His face filled with hurt and disappointment. "You have grown accustomed to your finery. You would rather have it than be with me."

"Foolish poet. I thought you knew me. There shall be no end to this war if I am milking cows instead of consorting with kings." I ran off before he could see the tears flowing freely down my face.

I thought I had lost his company but I regained him only to lose his respect.

The Poet broods…

I had not really expected her to run off with me. However, deep down inside, I had dared to hope we could have had a life together. Thus I could not suppress my disappointment. I only managed to rid myself of this by replacing it with anger. I took up a pen and began writing.

_Madame, for youre newefangelnesse,  
Many a servant have ye put out of grace.  
I take my leve of your unstedefastnesse,  
For wel I woot, whil ye have lives space,  
Ye can not love ful half yeer in a place,  
To newe thing youre lust is ay so keene;  
In stede of blew, thus may ye were al greene.  
Right as a mirour nothing may enpresse,  
But, lightly as it cometh, so mote it pace,  
So fareth youre love, youre werkes bereth witnesse.  
Ther is no faith that may your herte enbrace;  
But, as a wedercok, that turneth his face  
With every wind, ye fare, and this is seene;  
In stede of blew, thus may ye were al greene._

_Ye might be shrined, for youre brothelnesse,  
Bet that Dalida, Criseide or Candace;  
For ever in chaunging stant youre sikernesse;  
That tache may no wight fro yuor herte arace.  
If ye lese oon, ye can wel twain purchace;  
Al light for somer, ye woot wel what I mene,  
In stede of blew, thus may ye were al greene._

**A/N:**

**Give me any historical event or character and I'll try to incorporate it into the story! **

That poem in the end is Against Women Unconstant, authored by Geoffrey Chaucer, a medieval British writer, famous for his unfinished work, The Canterbury Tales.


	6. Chapter 6

Cinderella commands…

Instead of taking my usual position behind the curtain, I made a beeline for the seat at the head of the table. Hardly anyone batted an eye. It was about time I took the credit for my actions. I called the meeting to order, something the king would usually do, but he was not present. "What is this matter that requires an emergency meeting?" I demanded.

"There is a woman who claims that she hears the voice of God," the Minister of Internal Affairs said nervously. "She wants to lead us in the struggle against the barbarians."

I silently contemplated this piece of information. We could not have lay individuals claiming to receive instructions from God. Part of the power of the monarchy comes from the claim that the king is chosen by God. On a more practical level, we receive support from the Church by patronizing its highest members. Recognition from God can only be bestowed upon the elite few, or the throne loses its mystique and the loyalty of its people. The same goes for the Church and the donations made in return for salvation. Such indulgences go toward funding the budget. However, we needed hope. Apparently, traditional means were not working.

"We can use her for now and discard her later if need be," the Cardinal drawled coldly. "We are suffering from a shortage of officers, after all." As much as I hated to admit it, that was exactly what I had been thinking.

"Give her some men," I said, and stood up. We would see what this girl could do.

* * *

one month later... 

As the slaves carried my sedan through the streets, I heard the peasants singing the praises of some man named Napoleon. "Who is this Napoleon Bonaparte?" I asked my servant, who was trotting alongside me.

"A warrior who claims to liberate nations by invading them," she replied carefully. "He espouses the ideals of the republic." I narrowed my eyes. A republican threat was the last thing we needed on top of a religious schism. If only I could have him burned at the stake as if he were a heretic peasant!

* * *

The Cardinal observes… 

Cinderella rapped her nails impatiently on the oak table as she prompted the Chancellor to provide the new bad news.

"Some man nailed 95 theses to the door of a church," he said cautiously. "Among other things, he criticized indulgences and denied the reality of transubstantiation."

"Have him excommunicated," she ordered immediately. She glanced briefly at me as if expecting me to say something critical, which I usually did, but I held my peace. For once, our interests had coincided. She paused. "Oh, and that girl who hears voices, have her burned at the stake," she added as an afterthought.

"But she just won us a victory!"

"With the devil's help, no doubt," she snapped. "We have to make an example of heretics who say they can speak with God."

I smiled. Things were going perfectly.

After the meeting, I sought the relaxing company of the palace ducks. They quacked excitedly as I tossed them crumbs. My sole human companion, the head advisor, frowned as if disapproving of my frivolity.

"You do not seem to have much to say at court these days, Your Grace," he noted. "Surely you have objections to the princess leading the meetings in the absence of the king and crown prince."

I trailed my fingers through the clear water in the fountain and wriggled a finger at the fuzzy ducklings that were wading behind their parents. "The male duck is beautiful. It stands out," I stated. "The female duck is a dull brown, unattractive but inconspicuous. When the hunter aims his gun, which do you think he will see first? Which will he covet more as a trophy?"

"The male duck."

"Precisely. Unlike myself, Cinderella is not satisfied with de facto power. She needs recognition as well. Should anything go wrong, the blame will go to the one who makes herself the most visible. Her pride, her desire to flaunt her power will be her downfall. I on the other hand, shall remain quiet when it suits me and _quietly_ adjust matters when they do not." I stared at the horizon where the red sun was dipping into the hills. I envisioned the look on Cinderella's haughty face when she had declared that _she_ was the state. "L'etate, ce n'est pas vous," I murmured quietly to myself. "No, it is me. What suits me suits the state."

"There are rumors that she is with child," he reminded me. "If she provides a male heir, she will gain the favor of the court."

"Then we'll have to make sure that she provides no heir." I emptied the rest of the crumbs into the water.

I turned my head abruptly when I heard a gunshot. I frowned as a dog ran into the water to retrieve a bloody duck, wagging its tail as it presented the prize to its master, the Duke of Erring. "What barbarity!" I cried. "What decent man would kill an innocent animal!" I strode over to the duke, pulled out a knife, and stabbed him in the stomach before he could even respond.

"A bit extreme, perhaps," the advisor offered. "He was one of your most loyal men."

"And a vicious killer of innocent animals." I tossed him the knife. "Make sure he does not live. Nor any witnesses you find." I pried the duck from the jaws of the beastly dog and went off to find a soft patch of ground to bury it.

* * *

Historical mentions: 

Joan of Arc, Napoleon, and Martin Luther


End file.
